


Always the Fool

by fallingrenegade



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: April Fools' Day, Incest, M/M, Twincest, apparently I can only write for holidays now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 10:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6420466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingrenegade/pseuds/fallingrenegade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All their life, Ford was always the fool. Now is no exception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always the Fool

"Did you call for me a few minutes ago?" asks Ford, wiping off excess grease onto a paper towel before stuffing it into his pocket.

His brother looks gruffly up at him before standing from his chair, bones cracking.

"Yeah, what took you so damn long?"

"Sorry, I was finishing up an experiment downstairs. What did you need from me?"

Stan's expression morphs into a cheeky grin. It gives Ford an unsettling, odd sensation- shivering like whispers over his skin.

"This."

Before Ford can protest, Stan's clutching him to his sturdy body, arms tugging him tight, pelvises knocked together. What's somehow worse are Stan's lips melding over his own, kissing without restraint.

Mortified, Ford freezes, limbs at awkward angles, eyes wide. Stan doesn't let up. A hand cards through think hair, pulling Ford even closer against his mouth. A prodding tongue enters between startled teeth, gliding over Ford's. Time stops. In his chest, Ford’s heart stutters. Stan was kissing him. Stan. His _brother_.

A shocked hum escapes the smaller man, their actions finally catching up to him. This is something he’s wanted for decades but never had the guts to try. He didn’t know Stan even floated that way.

Feeling wanted for the first time in years, Ford fills with ecstasy. When he's about to wrap excited arms around Stan, his brother pulls away. Panting hard, Stan shoots him a dopey smile.

"April Fools'! How's it feel bein’ the one duped this time, eh, Fordsy? Heh heh."

Ford’s happy grin falters, all air vacuumed into a vortex.

He can’t breathe.

Chuckling, Stan pokes him with a teasing elbow. He may as well have punched a gaping chasm through his heart.

Cerulean eyes look lost, face contorting in pain. The scene before him shatters. Broken fragments of a fantasy come true crumble to the floor. They remind Ford that no one actually wants him. They use him and laugh afterwards, conning the freak into getting what they want and leaving forever. What Ford truly wants will never be achieved. No one will ever want him. Not even his own brother.

Feeling a terrible, all-too-familiar sting behind his eyes, Ford turns away. He has to. Stan can't see him cry.

A tear slips as he saunters away, head held high though he feels desperately self-conscious. _Don’t let him see you cry. Never let him see you cry._

Suddenly there's a large hand gripping his shoulder, preventing the desperate escape.

"Hey, come on. It was just a joke. You're not actually upset, are ya?"

Anger boiling over, Ford yanks his shoulder away. The stubborn hand stays put, but his touch falters before leaving on its own accord. Ford misses it instantly.

"Whoa. Calm down, buddy. You okay?"

Whipping around, Ford's eyes are licking blue flames. Stan takes a desperate step back, not expecting rage spilling over from tear-filled eyes.

"Of course I'm not alright, you idiot! I care about you, Stanley. You can't tell me you haven't noticed the way I look at you. You were always good at reading people, especially me. You have to know what you just did messed with my emotions; my _heart_. How- how could you do this to me?"

Breath coming in gasps, Ford's hands clench into protective fists at his sides. Knuckles dig painfully into bony hips. Anger rages through his body. Yet it was preferable to the alternative. It was better than his true emotions.

It was too late. Stan knows. He couldn’t take back what was said. His heart was sewn, bleeding and spurting, on his sleeve, all on display for Stan to see; to prod. His brother knows. His despicable feelings were out and there was _nothing_ he could do to fix the wrong. The ball was in his court now. Stan could do anything. He could start a brawl, he could bolt, he could crush his feelings like the ant Ford was.

A very hurt Stan stands there, arms twitching to do _something_. To Ford, his posture was unreadable- back slouched, mouth in a purposeful frown, whole body like a sigh. Ford waits for the shoe to drop. It was bound to happen. Any second now. He readies himself for a punch, preparing to defend himself. He could already feel the sharp crack of knuckles against broken ribs.

Looking hesitant, Stan lifts his arms. Ford twitches, ready to defend and neutralize the attack. When they engulf Ford in a hug instead, the genius goes limp. Ford’s mouth opens yet no words come out, only a surprised wheeze. Tears streak down stubbled cheeks, collecting on Stan’s jacket. Gladly, Stan is there to hold him up, as always.

"Shit. I didn't know you liked me back. I- I'm sorry, okay? I thought today'd give me the perfect excuse to kiss you without consequences. But… I guess I failed like I always do, huh?"

Brain processing the depressed words slowly, Ford's eyes flutter with happy disbelief.

"You… you like me?" he asks, ignoring all the pain Stan obviously feels, for now.

"Heh. Yeah. I thought I was pretty obvious, too, but I guess we both didn't see it."

Relief pours warm over Ford’s body, engulfing him in a relaxing sauna. He wasn’t upset. Stan didn’t want to hurt him. His brother cares about him. Someone actually cares about him.  

Sighing decades worth of fear of being found out, Ford presses soft lips against Stan's neck, finally allowed to be this close without consequence. Apparently Stan has the same idea. Wet kisses are pressed to the small stretch of skin, ticking Ford’s neck. Excited shivers course through his body, pooling downward.

Exuberance lifting him up, he finally wraps hands tightly around Stan's waist, holding him close. Smiling like a child, Ford breathes in Stan’s scent, making him shiver.

That's when the doubts stab black spears through his bleeding heart. His loving embrace dwindles, becoming fearfully cautious. Stan must sense the change because he makes a questioning noise.

"Wait, th- this isn't all just another twisted April Fools' joke, is it? Because, if it is, I-" Ford hears himself choke on his own words, unable to finish the sentence. He couldn’t handle the rejection. Not again. Never again.

"What? No. Why the hell would I do that?" 

Stan pauses, body becoming rigid. Apparently his own worries and insecurities creep in because his protective grip dwindles.

"Hey, you're… you’re not pullin' a fast one on _me_ now, are ya? Making me admit my feelings then dumping all over ‘em? Cuz if you are…"

Ford's heart drops into roiling stomach acid. It sloshes around, scorching his tattered soul.

"Of course not,” Ford assures, offended. “Why would I ever want to hurt you like that? I'm not good at this sort of thing, Stan. Relationships make me nervous. If I tell someone I care deeply about them then I mean every word."

As much as he hates to, Ford can admit that much. Besides, he was well beyond enamored with his brother. Always had been. Stan was the socially-conscious one. He should know that Ford wasn't lying. His twin could always read him like a preschool book.

"You sure?" comes a fearful, uncertain voice.

Ford blinks. His brother is quivering. Eyebrows raised, Ford pulls him close, warming him in a way that no physical heat ever could. His chin nuzzles against Stan’s shoulder, attempting to calm them both.

"I'm not lying, Stan. That's more _your_ area."

Stan sighs shakily, pressing a respectable kiss to Ford's stubbled cheek. He pulls his upper body away enough to meet Ford's uncertain eyes, hands holding his shoulders. Watching his cerulean counterparts look so vulnerable gives Ford a sense of protectiveness he hasn't felt since they were children.

"You're a good guy, Ford. I'm not sure if I deserve this; if I deserve _you_."

"No, you _don't_ deserve me," assures Ford, his words a pin that pops Stan's vulnerable balloon. Ford leans forward, kissing him sweetly. Before Stan can respond to the gentle caress of warm lips, Ford pulls back, noses still touching. Breath shallow, he stares deep into those pained eyes, realizing for the first time how similar they really were. "You deserve so much better."

Stan makes a choked noise, eyes shimmering. Both his hands cradle Ford's cheeks as lips crash together. Stan kisses with a determination Ford has never witnessed from him.

Love rushes through Ford’s veins. No one has ever kissed him like that before. Their lips press gently together, over and over as they fall into each other’s presence. A wilted flower given water, granted life, Ford soaks it all in. He doesn't feel so tainted in Stan's arms.

Thumbs rub small circles over Ford’s rosy cheeks as wet lips glide over his own. Ford’s equally-desperate hands roam down Stan's love handles, settling on small hips and squeezing.

They stand in the living room for a small eternity, engulfed in each other’s bodies. It was a long time coming and Ford couldn’t be more pleased. The man he adores was in his arms and had nestled into his heart to stay. Maybe always being the oblivious fool wasn’t so bad after all.


End file.
